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Dali: Ancient city of dreadlocks and pancakes

Wednesday, May 30th, 2007

a hybrid religious building, Dali. A chemple?

Sat-Tues, May 26-29 2007

A frightening thing is happening…I’m beginning to sound more and more like a reborn Christian. The amount of times I’ve uttered “THANK YOU JESUS!” has reached evangelical proportions. Every time I find the bus station, manage to get on the right bus, sit next to someone who’s not smoking or snot-sucking (which is very rare…), find a bank which accepts my card, the list is growing…
So, after a frustrating search for the bus station (the taxi driver dropped me off at the wrong one) I again muttered my little mantra of thanks when I finally collapsed in my seat on the minibus to Dali. When I got on 5 minutes before the supposed departure time, I was the only passenger. The driver, who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the set of “Fight Club” was outside hustling the crowds. 30 minutes later, people were sitting on top of each other in the aisle. The bull terrier got behind the wheel and sped off.
Leaving Kunming I spotted a sign over a bridge(the first sign I’d seen in English since the border post): “May our friends from afar stay longer with us”
The outskirts of Kunming bear a grim testimony to the living conditions of the masses: a tangled mess of concrete apartments, their shabby husks tightly wedged in against each other, so that the inhabitants of one block can see their misery reflected in the facing block, in an ever expanding web of urban decay. It makes London’s council estates look like Club Med resorts in comparison.

So far, the Chinese countryside has been similar to that of Vietnam, except trhat the towns and villages are a lot kinder to the eye, with quaint farmhouses built in the traditional tilted roof style. A nice change not to see the ubiquitous wedding cake houses of Vietnam. However, the industrial onslaught on the environment is sadly evident. Looking out of the bus on one side was a pastoral scene of women working in the rice paddies. Turning my head to the other side, I was confronted with a smoke-billowing factory.

4.5 hours later, we arrived in Dali New City and after scurreling arround like a lost dog, I got on the local bus to Dali Ancient City.
Dali is the Chinese equivalent of a European medieval walled town. Beautifully ornate gateways guard the four entrances into the cobled-stoned town. Unfortunately like every beautiful town, it’s also been discovered by the marauding tourist buses carrying their cargo of pillaging tourists.

I checked into the “Friendly Guesthouse” (only $6 for a very decent room, en suite) and went for a stroll. Dodging the hoardes of Chinese tourists and their guides dressed in tacky Bai costumes (Bai is the local ethnic minority), I made my way to “Foreigner street” – so called due to its abundance of pancake and cappucino shops catering to the backpaker community (surprisingly very few in town). I was constantly harassed by ancient, wrinkled Bai women: “You want smoke ganja?” Oddly enough the authorities seemed to turn a blind eye to the geriatric dealers of Dali. [read on]